An Unwilling Guest E-Book

Grace Livingston Hill

• Herausgeber: Classica Libris
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Young Evelyn Rutherford, a New York society beauty, is sent to spend the summer with her aunt. When her aunt falls ill, Evelyn resigns herself to spending a boring summer with a neighboring family. But the Greys are a family of faith, goodness, and quiet happiness—things Evelyn has never known. Suddenly the social life she longed for no longer holds interest. Instead, a new and powerful dream begins to stir within her—a dream that thrills the Greys’ handsome son, Maurice. But will Evelyn discover an all-important truth about herself—and about God—before Maurice is gone from her life forever?

Leseprobe

Grace Livingston Hill

AN UNWILLING GUEST

Copyright

First published in 1902

Copyright © 2019 Classica Libris

Chapter 1

OUTSIDE QUARANTINE

The gray horse stopped by a post on the other side of the road from the little wooden station as if he knew what was expected of him, and a young girl got out of the carriage and fastened him with a strap. The horse bowed his head two or three times as if to let her know the hitching was unnecessary but he would overlook it this time seeing it was she who had done it.

The girl’s fingers did their work with accustomed skill, but the horse saw that she was preoccupied and she turned from him toward the station a trifle reluctantly. There was a grave pucker between her eye brows that showed that her present duty was not one of choice.

She walked deliberately into the little waiting room occupied by some women and noisy children and compared her watch with the grim-faced clock behind the agent’s grating. She asked in a clear voice if the five-fifty-five New York train was on time and being assured that it was she went out to the platform to look up the long stretch of track gleaming in the late afternoon sun and wait.

Five miles away, speeding toward the same station, another girl of about the same age sat in a chair car, impatiently watching the houses, trees, and telegraph poles as they flew by. She had gathered her possessions about her preparatory to leaving the train, had been duly brushed by the obsequious porter who seemed to have her in charge, and she now wore an air of impatient submission to the inevitable.

She was unmistakably city bred and wealthy, from the crown of her elaborate black chiffon hat to the tip of her elegant boot. She looked with scorn on the rich farming country, with its plain, useful buildings and occasional pretty homes, through which she was being carried. It was evident, even to the casual onlooker, that this journey she was taking was hardly to her taste. She felt a wave of rebellion toward her father, now well on his way to another continent, for having insisted upon immuring her in a small back-country village with his maiden sister during his enforced absence. He might well enough have left her in New York with a suitable chaperon if he had only thought so or taken her along—though that would have been a bore, as he was too hurried with business to be able to give time and thought to making it pleasant for her.

She drew her pretty forehead into a frown as she thought the vexed question over again and contemplated with dread the six stupid weeks before she could hope for his return and her release from exile. She pouted her lips in annoyance as she thought of a certain young man who was to be in New York during the winter. She was to have met him at a dinner this very night. She wondered for the hundredth time if it could possibly be that papa had heard of her friendship with this young fellow and because of it had hustled her off to Hillcroft so unceremoniously. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she bit her lips angrily. Papa was so particular! Men did not know how to bring up a girl, anyway. If only her mother had lived she felt sure she would not have had such old-fashioned notions, for her mother had been quite a woman of fashion, from what people in society said of her. There was nothing the matter with this Mr. Worthington either—a little fast, but it had not hurt him. He was delightful company. Fathers ought to know that their daughters enjoyed men with some spirit and not namby-pamby milk-and-water creatures. Probably papa had been a bit wild in his youth also; she had heard it said that all men were, in which case he ought to be lenient toward other young men and not expect them to be grave and solemn before their time. Mr. Worthington dressed perfectly, and that was a good deal. She liked to see a man well dressed. Papa was certainly very foolish about her. With this filial reflection the young woman arose as the train came to a halt and followed the porter from the car.

Several passengers alighted, but the girl on the platform knew instinctively that the young woman in the elegant gray broadcloth skirt and dainty shirt waist, carrying on her arm her gray coat, which showed more than a gleam of the turquoise blue silk lining, and un concernedly trailing her long skirt on the dirty platform, was the one with whom she had to do.

Allison Grey waited just the least perceptible second before she stepped forward. She told herself afterward that it made it so much worse to have that porter standing smiling and bowing to listen. She felt that her duty was fully as disagreeable as she had feared, yet she was one who usually faced duty cheerfully. She could not help glancing down at her own blue serge skirt and plain white shirt waist, and remembering that her hands were guiltless of gloves, as she walked forward to where the other girl stood.

“Is this Miss Rutherford?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and hoping her mental perturbation was not visible.

The traveler wheeled with a graceful turn of her tall figure that left the tailor-made skirt in lovely curved lines which Allison with her artist’s eye noted at once and stared. Evelyn Rutherford’s eyes were black and had an expression which in a less refined type of girl would have been called saucy. In her it was modified into haughtiness. She looked Allison Grey over and it see med to Allison that she took account of every discrepancy in her plain little outfit before she answered.

“It is.” There was that in the tone of the answer that said: “And what business of yours may that be, pray?”

Allison’s cheek flushed and there came a sparkle in her eye that spoke of other feelings than her quiet answer betokened:

“Then will you come this way, please? The carriage is on the other side of the station. Your aunt, Miss Rutherford, was unable to meet you and I have come in her place. If you will give me your check I will see that your baggage is attended to at once.”

“Indeed!” said the bewildered traveler, and she followed the other girl with an air of injured dignity. Was this some kind of a superior servant her aunt had sent to take her place? Her maid, perhaps? She certainly did not speak nor act like a servant, and yet— Then her indignation waxed great. To think that her father’s sister should treat her in this way, not even come to the station to meet her when she was an entire stranger and had never even seen her since she was three years old! In New York, of course, she would not have expected it. Things were different. But she had always understood that country people made a great deal of meeting their friends at the station. Her aunt had spoken of this in her letters. A fine welcome, to be sure! She could not be ill or this person would have mentioned it at once.

She entirely forgot that a few moments before one of the greatest grievances had been that she feared her aunt would bore her with a show of affection, for she remembered the many caresses of her babyhood indistinctly, and her nature was not one that cared for feminine affection overmuch.

Allison showed the porter where to deposit the bags and umbrellas on the station platform, and taking the checks given her she left the elegant stranger standing amid her belongings, looking with disdain at the pony phaeton across the road and wondering where the carriage could be. She was growing angry at being left standing so long when she became aware that the girl across the road untying the pony was the same one who had gone away with her checks, and it began to dawn upon her that she was expected to get into that small conveyance with this other girl.

She submitted with what grace she could, as there seemed to be nothing else to be done, but the expression on her face was anything but pleasant, and she demanded an explanation of the state of things in no sweet manner.

“What is the meaning of all this? Is this my aunt’s carriage? Where is her driver?” she asked imperiously. Having made up her mind that this girl was a servant she concluded to treat her accordingly.

It was characteristic of Allison that she waited until she had carefully spread the clean linen robe over the gray broadcloth skirt, gathered her reins deliberately, and given the pony word to go before she answered. Even then she did not speak until the phaeton was turned about and they were fairly started spinning over the smooth road under the arching trees. By that time her voice was sweet and steady, and her temper was well under her control.

“I am very sorry, Miss Rutherford, that you should suffer any in convenience,” she said. “It certainly is not so pleasant for you as if your aunt had been able to meet you as she planned. No, this is not her carriage. It belongs to us, and we are her neighbors and dear friends.” She forced herself to say this with a pleasant smile, although she felt somehow as if the girl beside her would resent it.

“Really!” interpolated Miss Rutherford, as one who awaits a much-needed explanation.

“Yes, your aunt was expecting you, ‘looking forward with great pleasure to your coming,’ she bade me say,” went on Allison, reciting her lesson a trifle stiffly, “and only two hours ago she discovered serious illness among her household which they are afraid may be contagious. They cannot tell for some hours yet. She does not wish you to come to the house until they are sure. She hopes that it will be all right for you to come home by tomorrow, or the next day at most, and in the meantime we will try to make you as comfortable as possible. Your aunt sent us word by the doctor this morning asking me to meet you and explain why it would not be safe for her to meet you. I am Allison Grey. We live quite at the other end of town from Miss Rutherford, so you will be entirely safe from any infection should it prove to be serious. Miss Rutherford was kind enough to think my mother could make you a little more comfortable than anyone else.”

Allison was almost in her usual spirits as she finished speaking. It would not be so bad after the stranger understood, surely. She did not add what Miss Rutherford had said about having her niece with herself, Allison, as she hoped another girl’s company would make her feel less lonely and strange, for Allison saw at once that this was not a girl who cared for other girls’ company a straw, at least not such as she.

Evelyn Rutherford’s face was a study. Chagrin and astonishment struggled for the mastery.

“I do not understand,” she said. “Who is ill in the family that could prevent my aunt meeting me? I thought she lived alone.”

“She does,” said Allison quickly, “except for her two servants. It is one of them, the cook. She has been with Miss Rutherford for fifteen years, you know, and is almost like her own flesh and blood to her. Besides, she has taken care of her all night herself, before she knew there was any need for caution, and if it is smallpox, as they fear, she has been fully exposed to it already, so it would not be safe for her to come to you until they are sure.”

“Horrors!” exclaimed the stranger, and Allison saw that her face turned a deadly white. “Stop! Turn around! I will go right back to New York!”

“You need not feel afraid,” said Allison gently. “There is none of it in town and this case is entirely isolated. The woman has been away on a visit to her brother and probably took the disease there. She came home only yesterday. She came back sooner than she intended because you were coming and Miss Rutherford sent for her. There is really no cause for alarm, for the utmost care will be taken if it should prove to be smallpox, and by morning we may hear that it is all right and she is getting well, and it is not that at all. Besides, there is no New York train going out tonight. The last one passed yours about ten miles back. You will have to stay until tomorrow, anyway.”

“Mercy!” said the stranger, seeming not to be able to find words to express her feelings. She was certainly taking the news very badly, but her hostess hoped she would behave better when she was fully possessed of the facts.

Miss Rutherford asked a few more questions about her aunt, commenting scornfully upon her devotion to a servant, which brought an angry flush into the other girl’s cheek—and then settled down to the inevitable. Upon reflection she decided it would be better to wait and write or telegraph to her friends in New York before returning to them. Indeed, there was no one in town just then—for it was early for people to return to the city—with whom she felt sufficiently intimate to drop down upon them unannounced for a prolonged visit, and she knew that her father would utterly disapprove of her being with any of them, anyway.

“Do your people keep a boarding house?” she asked, turning curious eyes on Allison, who flushed again under the tone, which sounded to her insolent, but waited until she had disentangled the reins from the pony’s tail before she replied gently:

“No.”

“Well—but—I don’t understand,” said the guest. “Did you not say that my aunt had arranged for me to board with you?”

A bright spot came in each of Allison’s cheeks ere she replied with gentle dignity:

“No, you are to visit us, if you will. Your aunt is a dear friend of my mother, Miss Rutherford.” She resolved in her heart that she would never, never, call this girl Evelyn. She did not want the intimate friendship that her old friend had hinted at in telling her first of the coming of this city niece.

Allison was favored with another disagreeable stare, but she gave her attention to the pony.

“Really, I’m obliged,” said the guest in icy tones that made Allison feel as if she had been guilty of unpardonable impertinence in inviting her. “Was there no hotel or private boarding house to which I could have gone? I dislike to be under obligations to entire strangers.”

Allison’s tones were as icily dignified now as her unwilling guest’s as she replied: “Certainly, there are two hotels and there is a boarding house. You would hardly care to stay in the boarding house I fancy. It has not the reputation of being very clean. I can take you to either of the hotels if you wish, but even in Hillcroft it would scarcely be the thing for a young girl to stay alone at one of them. We sometimes hear of chaperons, even as far West as this, Miss Rutherford.”

Allison’s eyes were bright and she drew herself up straight in the carriage as she said this, but she remembered almost immediately the pained look that would have come into her mother’s eyes if she had heard this exhibition of something besides a meek and quiet spirit, and she tried to control herself. Yet in spite of the way in which she had spoken, her words had some effect on the young woman by her side. She had been met by the enemy on her own ground and vanquished. She had a faint idea that her brother Dick would have remarked something about being “hoisted with his own petard” had he been by, for she was wont to be particular about these things at home. She felt thankful that he was several hundreds of miles away. She said no more about hotels. She understood the matter of chaperonage even better than did Allison Grey, and strange as it may seem, Allison rose in her estimation several degrees after her haughty speech.

There was silence in the phaeton for some minutes. Then the driver spoke, to point out a dingy house close to the street with several dirty children playing about the steps. There was a sign in one window on a fly-specked card, “Rooms to Rent,” and a card hung out on a stick nailed to the door-frame, “Vegetable soup today.”

“This is the boarding house,” said Allison. “Do you wish me to leave you here?” Her spirit was not quite subdued yet Evelyn Rutherford looked and uttered an exclamation of horror. Her companion caught the expression and a spirit of fun took the place of her look of indignation. In spite of herself she laughed.

But the girl beside her was too much used to having her own way to relish any such joke as this. She maintained an offended silence.

They passed the two hotels of the town, facing one another on Post-office Square. There were loungers smoking on the steps and on the long piazzas of both and at the open door of one a dashing young woman, with a loud laugh and louder attire, joked openly with a crowd of men and seemed to be proud of her position among them. Evelyn curled her lip and shrank into the carriage farther at thought of herself as a guest at that house.

“I fear I shall have to trouble you, at least until I can communicate with my aunt or make other arrangements,” she said stiffly, and added condescendingly, “I’m sure I’m much obliged.”

Then the carriage turned in at a flower-bordered driveway with glimpses of a pretty lawn beyond the fringe of crimson blossoms and Miss Rutherford realized that her journey was at an end.

Chapter 2

CONTRASTS

They stopped at a side door which opened on a vine-clad piazza. The house was white with green blinds and plenty of vines in autumn tinting clinging to it here and there as if they loved it. A sweet-faced woman opened the door as they stopped at the steps and came out to meet them. She had eyes like Allison’s and a firm, sweet chin that suggested strength and self-control. Apparently she had none of Allison’s preconceived idea of their guest for she came forward with a gentle welcome in her face and voice.

“So you found her all right, Allison dear,” she said as she waited for the stranger to step from the carriage, and Evelyn noticed that she placed her arm around her daughter and put an unobtrusive kiss on the pink cheek.

“This is mother,” Allison said, all the sharpness gone out of her voice.

That Mrs. Grey should fold her in her arms and place a kiss, tender and loving, upon her cheek was an utter astonishment to Evelyn Rutherford. She was not used to being kissed. Her own mother had long been gone from her, and the women in whose charge she had been had not felt inclined to kiss her. In fact, she disliked any show of affection, especially between two women, and would have been dis posed to resent this kiss, had it been given by one less sweet and sincere. But one could not resent Mrs. Grey, even if that one were Evelyn Rutherford.

“My dear, I am so sorry for you,” was what she said next. “It must be very hard for your journey to end among strangers after all. But you need not be anxious about your dear aunt, she is so strong and well and has often nursed contagious diseases without contracting anything.”

Allison, as she went down the steps to take the pony to his stable, could not help waiting just the least little bit to hear what this strange girl would say, but all the satisfaction she had was a glimpse of her face filled with utter astonishment. She felt in her heart that the least of Miss Rutherford’s concerns was about her aunt. She wondered if her mother could not tell that by just a glance, or if she simply chose to ignore it in her sweet, persistent way. There were often times when Allison Grey wondered thus about her mother, and often had she suspected that behind the sweet, innocent smile which acknowledged only what she chose to see, there was a deeper insight into the character before her than even her shrewd daughter possessed. Allison puzzled over it now as she drove to the stable, flecking the pony’s back with the end of the whip that was almost never used for its legitimate purpose.

In the house Miss Rutherford was carried from one astonishment to another. The gentle, well-bred welcome, she could not repulse. It took her at a disadvantage. She was ill at ease. She followed Mrs. Grey silently to her room. Something kept her from the condescending thanks she had been about to speak, thanks which would have put her in no way under obligation to these new, and, as she chose to consider, rather commonplace strangers. Why she had not uttered the cold, haughty words she did not know, but she had not.

The room into which she was ushered was not unattractive even to her city-bred eyes. To be sure the furnishings were inexpensive, that she saw at a glance, but she could not help feeling the air of daintiness and comfort everywhere. The materials used were nothing but rose-colored cambric and sheer white muslin, but the effect was lovely. There was a little fire in an open grate and a low old-fashioned chair drawn up invitingly. The day was just a trifle chilly for October, but the windows were still wide open.

“Now, dear,” said Mrs. Grey, throwing the door open, “I hope you will be perfectly comfortable here. My room is just across the hall and Allison sleeps next to you, so you need not be lonely in the night.”

Left to herself Miss Rutherford took off her hat and looked about her. The room was pretty enough. The low, wide window-seat in the bay window, covered with rosebud chintz and provided with plenty of luxurious pillows, was quite charming; but then it had a homemade look, after all, and the girl scorned home made things. She had not been brought up to love and reverence the home. Her world was society, and how society would laugh over an effect achieved in cheap cottons with such evident lack of professional decorators. Nevertheless, she looked about with curiosity and a growing satisfaction. Since she must be thus cast upon a desert island she was glad that it was no worse, and she shuddered over the thought of the possibilities in that boarding house she had passed. However, she was not a young woman given to much thanksgiving and generally spent her time in bewailing what she did not have rather than in being glad over what she had escaped.

Presently the lack of a maid, who was to her a necessary institution, began to make itself felt. Her aunt had servants she knew, for they had been mentioned occasionally in the long letters she wrote at stated intervals to them. Her father had most emphatically declared against taking a maid with her from New York. This had been one of her greatest grievances. Her father said that her aunt had all the servants that would be necessary to wait upon her, and it was high time she learned to do things for herself. All her tears and protestations had not availed.

But in this house there had been no word of a maid. Mrs. Grey had told her to let her know if there was anything she needed but had not suggested sending a servant. Of course they must have servants. She would investigate.

She looked about her for signs of a bell, but no bell appeared. She opened the door and listened. There was the distant tinkle of china and silver, as of someone setting a table; there came a tempting whiff of something savory through the hall and distant voices talking low and pleasantly, but there seemed to be no servant anywhere in sight or sound.

Across the hall Mrs. Grey’s wide, old-fashioned room seemed to smile peacefully at her and speak of a life she did not understand and into which she had never had a glimpse before. It annoyed her now. She did not care for it. It seemed to demand a depth of earnestness beneath living that was uncomfortable, she knew not why. She went in and slammed her door again and sat down on the bay-window seat, looking out discontentedly across the lawn.

Presently a wagon drove into the yard carrying her two large trunks. She heard voices about the door and then the heavy tread of man bearing a burden. She waited, thinking how she could get hold of a servant.

Allison’s light tap on the door soon followed and behind her was the man with a trunk on his shoulder.

“Wal, I kin tell yew that there trunk ain’t filled with feathers!” ejaculated the man as he put down the trunk with a thump and looked shrewdly at its owner.

“You ought to bring someone to help you, Mr. Carter,” said Allison’s fresh, clear voice, with just a tinge of indignation in it as she looked toward the stranger, “that was entirely too much of a lift for you.”

Miss Rutherford curled her lip and turned toward the window till the colloquy should be concluded.

“And now,” said Mr. Carter, puffing and blowing from the weight of the second trunk which was even worse than the first, “I s’pose you want them there things unstropped. You don’t look like you was much more fit to do it yourself than one o’ these ere grasshoppers, er a good-sized butterfly.”

“Sir!” said Miss Rutherford in freezing astonishment.

“I said as how you wa’n’t built for unstroppin’ trunks,” remarked the amiable Carter with his foot against the top of the trunk and his cheeks puffed out in the effort to unfasten a refractory buckle.

“Your remarks are entirely unnecessary,” said the haughty young woman, straightening herself to her full height and looking disagreeable in the extreme.

The buckle gave way, and Carter taking his old hat from the floor where it had fallen looked at her slowly and carefully from head to foot, his face growing redder than when he had first put down the trunk.

“No harm meant, I’m sure, miss,” he said in deep embarrassment as he shuffled away, mumbling something under his breath as he went downstairs.

“The idea!” said the young woman to herself. “What impudence! He ought not to be employed by decent people.” Then she heard Allison’s step in the hall and remembered her wants.

“Will you please let your maid bring me some hot water,” she said with a sweet imperiousness she knew how to assume on occasion.

“I will attend to it at once,” answered Allison in a cold tone, and it became evident to the guest that her sympathies were all with Mr. Carter. It made her indignant and she retired to her room to await the hot water.

She stood before the mantel idly studying a few photographs. One, the face of a young man, scarcely more than a boy, attracted her with an oddly familiar glance. Where had she seen someone who had that same peculiarly direct gaze, that awakened a faint stir of undefined pleasant memories? She turned from the picture without having discovered, to answer the tap on the door with a “come” that was meant as a pleasant preface to her request that the entering maid would assist her a little and met Allison with the hot water.

“Oh, how kind to bring it yourself,” said the guest a trifle less stiffly than before. “But would you mind lending me your maid for a few minutes? Can you spare her? I won’t keep her very long.”

The color crept into Allison’s cheek as she answered steadily: “I am very sorry to say we are without any just now, so I cannot possibly send her to you; but I shall be glad to help you in any way I can as soon as mother can spare me.”

“Oh, indeed!” said the guest with one of her stares. “Don’t trouble yourself. I shall doubtless get along in some way,” and she turned her back upon Allison and looked haughtily out of the window.

Allison reflected a moment and said in a pleasanter tone:

“If there is any lifting to be done or your trunks are not right, father will help you when he comes in for supper. And I’m sure mother would want me to help you in any way I can, if you will just tell me what to do. Would you like me to help you unpack?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” said the guest with her face still toward the window, “I can do very well myself.”

Allison hesitated and then turned to go. As she was half out the door she said helplessly: “We have supper in half an hour. If you want me just call. I can easily hear you.”

Miss Rutherford made no answer. After the door had closed she began elaborate preparations for a dinner toilet. She belonged to a part of the world that consider it a crime to appear at dinner in any but evening attire. In her life atmosphere it was thought to be a part of the unwritten code of culture which must be adhered to in spite of circumstances, as one would wear clothes even if thrown among naked savages. In her eyes Hillcroft was somewhat of a cannibal island, but it never occurred to her that it would be proper for her to do as the savages did. Therefore she “dressed” for dinner.

It was decidedly over an hour from that time before the guest descended. Mr. Grey had waited as patiently as possible, though he had pressing engagements for the evening. The bell rang twice, loud and clear, and Allison tapped at her door once and asked politely if she could be of any assistance as supper was ready; but in spite of all this the guest came into the dining room as coolly as if she had not been keeping every one waiting for at least three-quarters of an hour, and spoiling most effectually the roasted potatoes, which had been in their perfection when the bell rang.

Mrs. Grey had been as much annoyed by the delay as she ever allowed herself to be over anything, for she did like to have potatoes roasted to just the right turn and prided herself upon knowing the instant to take them from the oven and crack their brown coats till the steam burst forth and showed the snowy whiteness of the dry delicious filling.

But potatoes and engagements alike were forgotten when Miss Rutherford burst upon them in her glory.

She had chosen a costume which in her estimation was plain, but which by its very unexpectedness was somewhat startling. It was only a black net with spangles of jet in delicate traceries and intricate patterns here and there, but the dazzling whiteness of the beautiful neck and arms in contrast made it very effective. She certainly was a beautiful girl, and she saw their acknowledgment of this fact in their eyes as she entered the room.

But she could not know of the shock which the bare white shoulders and beautifully molded arms gave to the whole family. Hillcroft was not a place which décolleté dressing was considered “just quite the thing” among the older, well-established families. It was felt to be a little “fast” by the best people, and it happened that Allison had never in the whole of her quiet, sheltered life sat down to a table or even moved about familiarly in the same room with a woman who considered it quite respectable to use so little material in the waist of her dress. It shocked her indescribably. She could scarcely understand herself why it should have such an effect upon her. She was a girl who had read widely, and in the world of literature she had moved much in the society of women who dressed in this way, and so far as one can be, through books, she was used to society’s ways. But she had moved through that airy world of the mind without even noticing this feature of the fashions, except to disapprove them, because her parents did. Now she looked for the first time upon a beautiful woman standing unblushing before her father in a costume that his own daughter would have thought immodest to wear in his presence. After the first startled look Allison turned away her face. It was a beautiful vision, but one that she felt ought not to be looked upon. It seemed that the girl before her must be shielded in some way and the only way she could do it was by averting her gaze.

If Allison had been a frequenter of the theatre she would not have felt in this way; but Hillcroft was not a place where many artists penetrated, and if it had been, Mr. Grey disapproved of the theatre and so did his wife.

The feeling which Allison had about the white neck and arms extended in a less degree to her mother and father. There was a tinge of embarrassment in their greeting as they sat down to the evening meal, which they could hardly have explained. It was not so much embarrassment for themselves as for their guest, for they felt that she must inevitably discover how out of place she was in such surroundings, and then what could she feel but confusion? They forgot that her home surroundings had not been theirs.

Chapter 3

THE MAID-OF-ALL-WORK

It was well for the Grey family that their custom was to drop their eyes and bow their heads upon sitting down to a meal, while the head of the house asked God’s blessing.

On this occasion it was a great relief to all concerned to close their eyes and quiet their hearts before God for a brief instant. They were people who lived close enough to their heavenly Father to gather strength from even so brief a heart-lift as was this.

As for the guest, it was actually the first time since her little girlhood that she had sat at a table and heard God’s blessing asked. There could scarcely have been brought together two girls whose lives had been farther apart than those of Allison Grey and Evelyn Rutherford. Miss Rutherford slightly inclined her head as good breeding would dictate, but she kept her eyes wide open and looked about on the group, half amused and a trifle annoyed. She did not care to have such an interruption to her little triumph of entrance. Besides, she now thought she knew why these people were so awfully placid and unusual in their behavior—they were religious. She had never known any very religious people, but she felt sure they were disagreeable and she decided again to get away from them as soon as possible. Meantime she was hungry and she could not help seeing that a tempting meal was set before her, even though, in the housekeeper’s notion, it was almost spoiled.

When the blessing was concluded she noticed, as she waited for the plate containing a piece of juicy steak to be handed her, that the tablecloth was fine and exquisitely ironed, and that the spoons and forks, though thin and old-fashioned, were solid silver. She happened to be interested in old silver just then, on account of a fad of a city friend, so she was able to recognize it. This fact made the people rise somewhat in her estimation, and she set herself to be very charming to the head of the house. It had never seemed to her worthwhile to exercise her charms upon women.

She really could talk very well. Allison had to admit that as she sat quietly serving the delicious peaches and cream, and passing honey, delicate biscuits, and amber coffee with the lightest of sponge cake.

The guest did thorough justice to the evening meal and talked so well about her journey to Mr. Grey that he quite forgot his hurry and suddenly looked at his watch to find that he was already five minutes late to a very important committee meeting.

Allison did not fail to note all these things, nor to admit the beauty and charm of their visitor as she from time to time cast furtive glances, getting used to the dazzling display of white arms. Her face grew grave as the meal drew to a close, and her mother watching, partly under stood.

They had just risen from the table when Mrs. Grey, stepping softly from the hall, folded a white, fleecy shawl about the guest’s shoulders saying gently: “Now, dear, you must go out and watch the moon rise over the lawn, and you will need this wrap. It is very cool outside.”

Allison noticed with vexation that the shawl was her mother’s carefully guarded best one that her brother had sent last Christmas. Allison herself always declined to wear it that it might be saved for mother. Yet here was this disagreeable, haughty, hateful—

Allison stopped suddenly and tried to devote herself to clearing off the supper table, realizing that her state of mind was not charitable, to say the least. She went with swift feet and skillful fingers about the work of washing the supper dishes, and her mother, perhaps thinking it was just as well for Allison to have a quiet thinking time, did not offer to help, but sat on the piazza with their guest, talking quietly to her about her aunt, though she must have noticed that the girl did not respond very heartily nor seem much interested. By and by Allison slipped out with another shawl and wrapped it about her mother and the stranger saw in the moonlight the mother’s grateful smile and the lingering pressure she gave Allison’s hand, and wondering, felt for the first time in her life a strange lack in her own existence.

“Are the dishes all washed, dear?” said Mrs. Grey a little while later, when Allison came out and settled at her mother’s feet on the upper step.

“Yes, mother, and I have started the oatmeal for breakfast. You wanted oatmeal didn’t you?”

During the few words that followed about domestic arrangements it became evident to Miss Rutherford that the other girl had actually washed the supper dishes and done a good deal of the work of the house that day. She looked at her with curiosity and not a little sympathy. She felt a lofty pity for any girl who did not move amid the pleasures of society, but to be obliged to wash dishes seemed to the New York girl a state not far from actual degradation. And yet here was this girl talking about it as composedly as if it were an everyday occurrence which she did not in the least mind. She wondered what could be the cause of the necessity for this state of things. Probably all the servants had decamped at once, it might be on account of the fear of smallpox. In that case it might be that even she was in danger of contagion. It would be well to investigate. Mrs. Grey had gone into the house and Allison sat on the step quietly looking out at the shadows on the lawn.

“You said your maid had left you, I think,” said Miss Rutherford, trying to speak pleasantly. “Have all your servants gone? What was the matter? Were they afraid of the smallpox?”

“Oh, dear no!” said Allison, this time surprised out of her gravity into a genuine laugh. “There isn’t any smallpox in town, only perhaps that one case you know. No, we never keep more than one servant. I did not say she had left; I said we had none now. She’s not a maid in the sense you meant; she’s the maid-of-all-work. She has been with mother since we were little children, but she is away on a vacation now. She always goes for a month every fall to visit her brother in Chicago, and during that month mother and I do all the work, all but the washing. She only went to Chicago day before yesterday, so we are just getting broken in, you see.”

“Oh!” said Miss Rutherford slowly, trying to take in such a state of things and the possibility that anybody could accept it calmly. “And you only keep one servant? I’m sure I don’t see how ever in the world you manage. Why, we keep four always, and sometimes five, and then things are never half done right. I should think you would just hate to have to do the work. Don’t you?”

“Why, no,” said Allison slowly. “I rather like it. Mother and I have such nice times doing it together. I love to make bread. I always do that part now; it’s a little too hard for mother.”

“Do you mean to say you can make bread?” The questioner leaned forward and looked curiously at the other girl, as though she had confessed to belonging to some strange tribe of wild people of whom she had heard, but whom she had never expected to look upon.

“Why, certainly!” said Allison, laughing heartily now. “I can make good bread too, I think. Wasn’t that good you had for supper?”

“Yes, it was fine. I think it was the best I ever ate, but I never dreamed a girl could make it. Don’t you get your hands all stuck up? I should think it would ruin them forever. I’ve always heard work was terrible on the hands,” and she looked down at her own white ones sparkling with jewels in the moonlight as if they might have become contaminated by those so lowly nearby.

“I have not found that my hands suffered,” said Allison, in a cold tone, spreading out a pair as small and white and shapely as those adorned with rings. Her guest looked at her curiously again. Sitting there on the step in that graceful attitude, with the white scarf about her head and shoulders which her mother had placed there when she went in, and the moonlight streaming all about her, Miss Rutherford suddenly saw that the other girl was beautiful too. The delicately cut features showed clearly with the pure line of profile against the dark foliage in shadow behind her. Evelyn Rutherford knew that here was a face that her brother would rave over as being “pure Greek.” What a pity that such a girl must be shut in by such surroundings, a little quiet village wherein she was buried, and nothing to do but wash dishes and make bread. Curiosity began to grow in her. She would try to find out how this other girl reconciled herself to such surroundings. Did she know no better? or had she never heard of any other world, of life and gayety? What did she do with her time? She decided to find out.

“What in the earth do you do with yourself the rest of the time? You only have to wash dishes and make bread one month you say. I should think you would die buried away out here? Is there any life at all in this little place?”

If Allison had been better acquainted with her visitor she would have known that her tone was as near true pity as she had ever yet come in speaking to another girl. As it was, she recognized only a scornful curiosity, and it seemed an indignity put upon her home and her upbringing. She grew suddenly angry and with her habit of self-control waited a moment before she answered. Her questioner studied her meanwhile and wondered at the look that gradually overspread her face. She had lifted her eyes for steadying to the brilliant autumn skies, studded with innumerable stars. Did they speak to her of the Father in heaven whom she recognized, of his wealth and power and all the glories to which she was heir? Did it suddenly come to her how foolish it was that she should mind the pity of this other girl, whose lot was set, indeed, amid earthly pleasures, but whose hope for the future might be so lacking? For suddenly the watcher saw a look almost of triumph mixed with one which seemed like pity, come over the fair young face before her, and then a joyous laugh broke out clear and sweet.

“Why, Miss Rutherford,” she said, turning to look at her straight in the face, “I would not change my lot for that of any other girl in the world. I love Hillcroft with all my heart, and I love my life and my work and my pleasures. Why, I wouldn’t be you for anything in the world, much as you may wonder at it. As for life here, there is plenty of it if you only know where to look for it.”

Miss Rutherford about made up her mind that the investigation was not worth pursuing. It was not pleasant to have pity thrust back upon one in this style. She straightened back in the comfortable rocking-chair and asked in an indifferent tone:

“Then there is something going on? I always thought from aunt’s letters that it must be a very poky place. What do you do?”

“There are plenty of young people here, and we are all interested in the same things. I suppose we do a great deal as they do in other places,” mused Allison, wondering where to begin to tell about her life which seemed so full. Instinctively she felt that she must not mention first the pursuit dearest to her heart, her beloved Sunday-school class of boys, for it would not be understood. She thought a minute and then went on.

“We have a most delightful club,” she said eagerly, her eyes kindling with pleasures past and to come. “I think you would enjoy that.”

“Club?” said Miss Rutherford, stifling a yawn. “Girls or men?”

“Both,” said Allison. “The girls meet early and do the real, solid hard work, and in the evening the boys come and enjoy and learn and give the money.”

“You don’t say!” said Miss Rutherford, with interest. “How odd! I never heard the like. What do you do? I suppose you make fancy work and the men buy it for charity and then you have a good time in the evening. Is that it? What do you do? Dance? Or perhaps you are devoted to cards.”

She was quite at home now and began to feel as if perhaps her exile might be tolerable after all.

“Oh, no!” said Allison, almost shocked to see how far she had been from making her visitor understand. “Why it is a club of the young people of the church.”

“Do you mean it is a religious society?” questioned the girl, a covert sneer on her face.

“No, not religious,” answered Allison, “but it is made up of the young people in our church. It is wholly secular and we have delightful times, but it is not a bit like society. We don’t any of us play cards or dance, at least a great many of us don’t know how and don’t care anything about those things. But we have most delightful meetings.”